


Fury and the Mouse

by Shrinkadink



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Gen, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrinkadink/pseuds/Shrinkadink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winters are desperate in Ered Luin and this one is particularly brutal. A sickness is spreading, one that has afflicted Kíli. Thorin and Fíli set out to the nearest human town, hoping they can trade for resources and medicine. They find someone willing to make a deal, but the price he is asking seems too large even for them. It's not trade he wants, it's Fíli. Thorin and Fíli must learn the hard way just what they are willing to give up when they are truly desperate.</p><p>Fill for a prompt on the kink meme, full prompt is in notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompt - Life in Ered Luin wasn´t always easy and occasionally, the winters would be harsher than the dwarves were prepared for. Before one such winter when dozens of dwarves would die, Thorin is given an offer of help by someone (other dwarves, a city of men etc.) that would ensure the safety of everyone during the cold weeks. However, the price for the help is a couple of nights with the blond prince.

 

Times were not always easy for the dwarves in Ered Luin. In fact, for a long time, it was touch and go on whether or not they would even survive.

They were unwelcome. Banished from the human towns with no trade and no shelter, they were forced to live like tinkers and beggars. Crafting what they could from scrap and rationing their food so it would last them as long as possible. Even then, there were often days where they would have none.

The winters were the most bitter. The firewood was sparse and damp; they could barely get a glow from it never mind heat. Their blankets were threadbare and the huts they had constructed were draughty and inadequate.

Many died. The young and the old were especially vulnerable. Thorin was forced to watch as his fellow dwarves grew weaker and thinner from cold and hunger. There was little joy in their hearts and their hope was dwindling.

But through it all, his nephews stayed strong, in spirit if not in body. They grew, despite the hardship. Despite the thinness of their middles and the numbness in their hands, there was a life in them that kept Thorin’s heart warm. It was largely through them and his sister Dis that he found strength and the will to keep trying, to keep fighting. He was so very proud of them.

On the winter of Fíli’s seventieth year, and Kíli’s sixty fifth, they’re hit particularly hard. Frost has lain thick on the ground for months now and they are almost out of their firewood supplies. There’s so little food that they’re forced to reboil already bleached bones for water thin broth and scraping moss and lichen from the rocks and trees.

Many of them have fallen ill with a sickness that makes the lungs wet. The afflicted are plagued with a deep rattling cough that leads to them coughing up thick white phlegm. In the worst cases, they drown on the liquid in their lungs.

Kíli has fallen to this illness. He is young and strong with a spirit that is equal to ten dwarves, but even he is growing weak. His skin is pale and clammy and there are dark shadows under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. Dis nurses him day and night and she tries to smile, but Thorin can see the worry in her eyes. She is afraid for her son, just as Thorin is afraid for him.

They are running out of time and they are running out of options.

One day, Thorin comes to a decision. He will go with Fíli to one of the human towns and they will try to agree on some kind of deal. Some kind of trade for food, wood, and medicine, enough to tide them over until the spring. The nearest human town has been unwelcoming at best, hostile at worst, but they have no choice.

“What do we have to make a deal?” Dis asks as she stands in the doorway, watching as both Thorin and Fíli pull on their layers, preparing for the bitter cold outside. “We have nothing to trade.” She’s not trying to stop them, she knows their situation is dire and this is their only hope. But she also knows they can’t deny the truth, what do they have that the humans will want?

“There will be something.” Thorin stands before his sister; he looks over her shoulder to Kíli who is lying in bed, watching them with bleak, stubborn eyes. “We will find something.” Thorin squeezes her shoulder and in that gesture he is saying, believe in me, I will not fail you. And Dis nods, accepting, because Thorin has never failed them, not once yet.

“I want to come,” Kíli says from the bed. He lets out a weak cough however and they can hear the fluid rattling painfully.

“ _You_ need to stay in bed,” Dis answers with mock sternness, she doesn’t look away from Thorin.

Fíli passes by the both of them into Kíli’s room and he sits himself down on the mattress by Kíli’s knee. “You won’t be missing much,” he smiles as he pats Kíli’s blanketed thigh. “You know how boring these things are, nothing but long pompous talks and stuffy old men. I’m jealous of you getting to stay tucked up in bed all day with mam waiting on you hand and foot.”

“Enough of that,” Dis chides with a weary smile. Kíli doesn’t look so amused; he’s visibly sulking, his lower lip threatening to jut out.

“Liar,” he accuses.

“We’ll likely be gone for five days. A week at the most.” Thorin says. “Dwalin has agreed to check on you each day and lend a hand when needed.”

“Dwalin.” Dis waves a careless hand. “We won’t need him, we’ll be fine, Thorin. It’s you two I’m worried about.”

“We’ll be fine, mam.” Fíli tells her. Dis hums, she doesn’t look convinced, but with a bracing sigh, she pulls her brother into a tight hug.

“Look after him,” she whispers into his ear before pulling away. Thorin nods. Of course.

Fíli hugs Kíli then duffs him playfully round the head and tells him to at least try to be a good patient for their mother, then he hugs and kisses Dis and he and Thorin pull on the last of their layers.

Dis drapes a thick woollen scarf around Fíli’s neck, tucking the ends into his coat and she looks at her son one last time, hesitant, her eyes filled with motherly concern.

“We need to go, Dis,” Thorin says gently. “If we want to reach the village before nightfall.”

“Yes, of course.” Dis shakes her head, ridding herself of whatever thoughts had been troubling her, and then she waves them off.

“Be safe!” she calls after them.

Fíli laughs and waves back at her, smiling at Thorin like they’re in on the same joke together.

“She doesn’t half worry,” he grins.

Thorin smiles in return. Dis has always been as fierce as a mother lion when it comes to her cubs. Now, she has entrusted him with the care of one of them.

If only Thorin were able to protect Fíli from what was about to come.


	2. Chapter 2

The mud of the main street is frozen solid and crunches under foot.  
  
They navigate the deep wheel ruts as they pass through the town. There’s not many people out in the frigid weather, but those that are have stopped what they’re doing to stare blatantly at the two dwarves.  
  
It is clear they are unwelcome and the air carries an icy feel to it that is not just from the weather.  
  
Thorin holds his head high and his shoulders rigid, meeting the gaze of each one of the men, silently staring them down. Beside him, he can feel Fíli’s own defiance as he looks around, he is outwardly fearless despite the hostility and it makes Thorin proud.  
  
They approach a man who stands in the awning of a small cottage, smoking a pipe. He eyes the two of them dispassionately, though his eyes linger curiously on Fíli.  
  
“We’re looking for the master of your town,” says Thorin.  
  
The man guffaws, smoke puffs out through yellowing peg-like teeth. “Won’t find one of those round here.”  
  
“Then who is in charge?”  
  
“Closest thing you’ll get is Sprocket, he owns most of the land around here.”  
  
“Where can we find Sprocket.”  
  
“Can’t tell you that,” says the man, scratching his chin. “The tavern maybe. You won’t get much out of him, he’s not much for your kind.” The way the man says ‘your kind’ makes Thorin want to launch himself at him and beat him senseless. From the way Fíli tenses next to him, he knows that Fíli is equally as enraged. However, Thorin bites his tongue, managing to keep check of his temper. The need of his people is greater than his pride.  
  
“Then we’ll try the tavern first,” Thorin says and Fíli, though still glowering at the man, nods.  
  
The tavern is a tall ramshackle building. It is called The Mouse and Jury and has a crudely painted sign with a brown mouse climbing over a grey hammer hanging above the door. As they step inside, they are greeted with warm stale air, thick with the stench of hops, sweat, and smoke.  
  
It is bustling with people, all of them crowded round tables and leaning against the bar, laughing uproariously as they drink ale from large metal tankards. The wooden floor is sticky where Thorin picks his way across it and he elbows his way roughly past a group of people blocking the path who squawk and cuss down at him drunkenly. Fíli follows him, keeping close.  
  
It’s disgusting to them that their people should be starving and freezing just a few hours away and these people are so careless. Free to drink away the daylight hours, spending their gold like it was nothing.  
  
They garner more than a few curious looks as they make their way through the tavern towards the bar. Someone reaches out and tugs at one of Fíli’s braids, pulling it free of his layers. Fíli yelps and spins, his hand going to one of his sheathed blades as he glowers at the offender. Thorin places a hand over his, stilling him. _Not now_ , he says with a firm look. Fíli stares back angrily, but his hand lowers and he nods.  
  
They reach the bar and Thorin pulls himself up onto a stool so he can see the barkeep. He ignores the jeers of a group of men beside him, laughing about the shorty.  
  
“We’re looking for Sprocket,” Thorin demands. The barkeep eyes him with much the same expression as the man outside, then he tosses his chin towards a far corner of the tavern. Thorin follows his gaze to man dressed in a red dress coat and black hat. He’s sitting with another man dressed equally as flamboyantly and a couple of women in low cut corsets.  
  
Thorin and Fíli walk over to them.

“Are you Sprocket?” Thorin asks.  
  
Even then, even when Thorin talks loud and clear, it takes Sprocket a pointedly long time to acknowledge them.  
  
“I might be,” the man in red says finally. “All depends on who’s asking.”  
  
“I am Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the Dwarves of Durin exhiled from—“  
  
“Get on with it,” says Sprocket with an exaggerated yawn. His cohorts titter behind their hands, the other man included.  
  
Beside him Fíli’s eyes narrow and he makes a noise almost like a growl. Thorin breathes in, staying calm.  
  
“We have come to talk to you in hopes of trading with you.”  
  
Sprocket looks at him curiously. “And what would you dwarves have that could possibly interest me?” he asks.  
  
“We have skilled craftsmen, blacksmiths, forgers. If you provide us the tools we can provide you with weapons, jewellery, the likes of which you have never seen.”  
  
“We have all that here.” Sprocket waves a hand. “And with their own materials.”  
  
“Not like ours, I can guarantee.” Fíli speaks up and Sprocket looks at him as if noticing him for the first time.  
  
“And who is this?”  
  
“Fíli,” says Fíli.  
  
“What, no lengthy title for you too?”  
  
“He is of the Durin line, my blood and my succeeding heir.” Thorin says.  
  
Sprocket looks at Fíli as a farmer would eye a prize cattle, it’s like he is seconds away from checking Fíli’s teeth and feet. “Yellow hair,” he says distractedly. “That’s rare for your kind.”  
Uncertain how to respond to that, Thorin and Fíli remain silent.  
  
After a long pause, Sprocket sighs. “Meet me tomorrow at the boarding house, we will discuss trade then.” He holds up a finger. “I’m not saying for definite that I will. But we will talk.”  
“Thank you.” Thorin bows his head respectfully, as difficult as it is to acquiesce to this man. Beside him, Fíli copies the gesture. Then they return to the bar and look into garnering affordable room and board.  
  


* * *

  
  
“He’s not going to agree to anything,” Fíli says grimly as he peels off his layers and hangs them up across a wooden beam. “He’s toying with us.”  
  
“Be that as it may, we need to try.” Thorin sits on the edge of the bed they are to share. It is a bed by name only, in reality it is a lumpy threadbare mattress with no bedframe, stuffed with straw and tucked in the back corner of a barn.  
  
All of the rooms in the tavern were far out of their price range, and it was only through sheer belligerence and Fíli’s natural charm (a gift that Thorin sorely lacks), that they were able to find any form of shelter. The barn costs two silver a night, more than is ideal, but affordable. It might not be pretty, but at least it is dry and sheltered and the hay provides some insulation.   
  
“We need help, if nothing else we need medicine,” Thorin points out and Fíli’s shoulders sag visibly, he can’t deny that this is true.   
  
Thorin is thinking of Kíli, bedridden and weak despite his fiery spirit, he knows that Fíli’s thoughts are also steering in that direction.  
  
“Whatever terms he wants,” Thorin says softly as Fili lays down on the lumpy mattress, pulling his coat over his shoulders. “Whatever he decides, we must agree to it.”  
  
“If it means getting what we need,” says Fíli, nodding his head. “Then it’s worth it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, they find themselves in Sprocket’s room of the boarding house. For every bit that their home in the mountains is sparse, this room is extravagant. Jewells litter the dressing table, fine coats hang from the door, soft leather shoes line the walls. It brings with it flashbacks of the decadence of Dale.

Sprocket sits before them in a chair and although it is just a room in a boarding house, Thorin feels uncomfortably like he is greeting a king on a throne. This whole trip has been a painful lesson in humility for him.

“I have thought about what you offered last night,” Sprocket begins. “And I have decided to accept your offer. But on different terms.”

“Different terms?” Thorin frowns. Sprocket nods.

“I shall give you what you want. For all of winter, your people will not go hungry, nor shall they be cold, and the ill will receive medicine. But the payment I want will not be your trade, we have no need of that.”

“What do you want?” asks Thorin.

Sprockets eyes turn to Fíli then, they rake over his form and there is a hunger to his expression that unsettles Thorin and causes anger to start rumbling in his gut.

“Him,” says Sprocket.

Fíli’s mouth opens in mute surprise and Thorin shakes his head, outraged. The way Sprocket had looked at Fíli the night before had not gone unnoticed to him, he would be a fool not to realise exactly what Sprocket meant.

“Out of the question. You insult and offend our honour.” He snaps, fists clenching tightly at his side.

Sprocket shrugs, unperturbed. “Then the deal is off. You shall have to find another way to save your people.”

“Thorin,“ Fíli begins. He has not quite made the connection of what Sprocket is truly saying, but hearing that they could lose the deal has caused him to worry and he glances at Thorin desperately. “Whatever he means, I can—“

“No, Fíli!” Thorin barks, he is further enraged when Sprocket has the gall to snicker. He glares at him. “You disgust me.”

“Thorin—“

“Fíli!” Thorin turns to glower at his nephew and Fíli falls silent. He swallows and glances between Thorin and Sprocket.

“When you say ‘me’. What is it you mean by that?”

Sprocket smiles. It is not a pleasant expression.

“You are an attractive dwarf. Your colouring is rare. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“Fíli. Leave.” Thorin takes his nephew by the elbow and thrusts him towards the door. Fíli stumbles, eyes locked on Sprocket as he blanches, his words obviously sinking in. “Fíli, go!” Thorin commands. Fíli obeys. Turning mutely, he opens the door and walks from the room.

Thorin pauses before following, he turns back to Sprocket. “You will not have my nephew.”

Sprocket stares back at him. “Then you will not have your deal,” he says.

* * *

 

Thorin is furious. He paces the barn, practically shaking with rage as he mutters curses, both in the dwarven tongue and human.

Fíli sits on the bedding, quiet and pale and looking down at his hands.

“We’ll go to another town,” Thorin rants, slamming a fist against a hitching post. One of the horses snorts and hooves the ground, disturbed by the sudden noise. “We’ll find someone else to help us. I’m not having that—that animal anywhere near you.”

“The next town is over four days ride away,” Fíli says, still looking at his hands.

“That doesn’t matter, we can cut through the hills, it’ll be hard but we’ll manage.”

“But will Kíli manage?” Fíli asks quietly. That stills Thorin in his pacing and he turns angry eyes on his nephew. “Every day we delay he’ll grow weaker. And it’s not just Kíli. We need the medicine, uncle, for our people.”

“What are you suggesting?” Thorin demands. “Are you saying you’re willing to do… _that?”_ He can’t even bring himself to say it.

Fíli looks up at him then, his blue eyes sad, but resolved. “We have no choice,” he says.

"There'll be another way," Thorin says immediately, disgusted by the mere thought of Sprocket touching Fíli. He won't allow it, he'd rather die than allow it. "There must be!"

"There isn't!" The force in Fíli's voice actually startles Thorin and his eyes widen. In any other circumstance it would have been comical. Fíli continues solemnly, "You saw his expression, he's not going to change his mind. And if it means saving Kíli's life... then I'm willing to do it, yes." Fíli's eyes turn pleading, begging Thorin to understand. "I can't let Kíli die, uncle. Please."

Thorin breathes in deeply, and on his exhale, he lowers his gaze. He's as unwilling to see Kíli die as Fíli is. But at such a price... he's not sure he's willing to pay it, he's not sure he's capable of standing back and letting Fíli pay such a price. "We'll talk no more of it tonight," he says grimly, putting an end to the discussion. "Perhaps tomorrow will shed new light."

As they settle down for the night on the sparse bedding, Thorin sends a silent prayer to Mahal, begging for guidance. However it seems, as always, his people are cursed and his prayers will go unanswered.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Sprocket’s demands hang over them like a dark shroud.

Neither of them have spoken about it since their discussion the night before. Fíli is uncharacteristically quiet. He’s never been much of a talker, not in comparison to his brother, but today he is silent, his gaze distant, trapped in his own troubling thoughts.

By lunchtime, Thorin has had enough and slips away, leaving Fíli behind in the stables. He has one thing in mind, to talk to Sprocket, and he doesn’t want Fíli around while he does so.

Sprocket is sitting downstairs in the same seat as the night before. The bar is much quieter in the daytime, but there are still a few stragglers, including Sprocket’s own personal entourage. They watch Thorin approach with cruel, curious eyes.

Sprocket turns to face him, his lips drawn back over his stained teeth in a wide, smug smile. “Have you come to accept my offer after all?” he asks, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “I knew you would.”

“I’ve come to make another offer,” Thorin states, glowering up at the loathsome man.

“And what would that be?”

Thorin musters all his dignity and without flinching from Sprocket's gaze, he tells him, “I've come to offer myself instead of Fíli.”

One of the men beside Sprocket snorts into his beer and Sprocket’s smile widens. Thorin can see the pinks of his gums above his teeth.

“That’s very noble of you, King Thorin,” he says, tone mocking. “But I have no interest in you. It’s your nephew or nothing. Those are the terms of my deal.”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Thorin says, glaring darkly, fingers ghosting over the hilt of his blade, itching to use it.

“I have no intention of hurting him,” Sprocket says and licks his lips. “Merely of tasting him.”

Revulsion courses thick through Thorin’s gut and he supresses a shudder whilst Sprocket’s entourage erupts in raucous laughter.

“You will regret this,” Thorin grits out. Sprocket rolls his eyes lightly.

“So dramatic, Thorin. I’m not forcing you into anything, you’re both free to leave anytime you like. However,” and here, he taps his fingers lightly on the stained table top. “If you want my help, you have to accept my terms. One night, that’s all I’m asking for.” Thorin stays silent and taking that as cooperation, Sprocket continues. “If you accept, Fíli is to come to my room after nightfall. He is to come alone. Then by morning, the both of you will have all the medicine and food you need. I’ll even provide you with firewood. You’ll find, Thorin, that I can be a generous man when I am pleased.”

"Dwarves do not forget their enemies."

"Oh I imagine they don't. But then, there's not much you can do right now is there?" Again, Sprocket's entourage chortles and titters into their drinks. They're laughing at him, mocking him. Thorin's fury finally spills over and he snaps, weilding his sword and pointing it to Sprocket's neck in one smooth move.

He feels something pressing into his ribs and he looks down to find the point of a silver dagger slipping into the folds of his furs. It's weilded by one of Sprocket's entourage, who is apparently not as drunk and slow as Thorin had first thought.

Sprocket tuts and wags a finger at him. He nudges Thorin's blade aside and Thorin allows it, aware that it's checkmate. If he kills Sprocket now they'll never get the medicine and Thorin will also be slain. Killing Sprocket will do nothing, despite how satisfying it would be. Sprocket has them trapped.

Slowly, Thorin lowers his sword and reseaths it. The man pressing the dagger between his ribs also removes his weapon, but he keeps it above the table, in plain sight.

"You should watch your temper, King," Sprocket says. "Who knows what trouble it could get you into."

"I will not forget," Thorin says, it is a promise and a warning. He turns, and with as much pride as he can muster, he marches from the tavern. Mocking laughter follows him out into the street.


End file.
